Lord Loss (The Demonata 1)

“We'll probably end on a grisly note anyway,” I say gloomily.

“Perhaps,” Dervish agrees. “But there are worse demons than Lord Loss.”

My thoughts threaten to spin out of control as I try to imagine anything worse than Lord Loss. Then Dervish spreads his arms and barks a loud command, and the world dissolves around me.

Walls and ceiling fading. Infinite space … a scattering of stars … meteors streak across the sky. But this space isn't black — it's red. An unending sky of redness, encircling the cellar like the drapes of hell.

The temperature escalates off the scale. Some of Dervish's books burst into flame and incinerate instantly. The bars of Bill-E's cage glow from the heat. All the candles in the cellar melt to the wick.

I check my clothes and hair, expecting flames, but although I can feel the terrible heat, it isn't burning me. Dervish and Bill-E aren't harmed either. Nor are the chess sets.

“Why aren't we toast?” I cry. The words come out as a croak — my mouth and throat are unbelievably dry.

“Protected,” Dervish wheezes in reply, then lays a finger to his lips and shakes his head — no more speaking. He points to a meteor screaming across the sky overhead. As I gaze up, I realize it isn't a meteor — it's some enormous, incomprehensible, reality-defying monster!

Dervish squats and places both palms on the floor, which ripples beneath his touch, as if made of water. Muttering some spell — or prayer — he turns in a circle. His eyes are yellow when I next catch sight of his face, his teeth sharp and grey.

I open my mouth to scream — remember his warning — shut my lips quickly.

Dervish continues turning, and when he faces me again he looks normal. Standing, he picks up one of the unburnt books, flicks it open, and starts singing. Long, complicated words. His voice unnaturally clear and beautiful.

The red sky shimmers, then darkens as Dervish sings. I lose sight of the stars and meteor-monsters. The room slips into a hot, fearful blackness — no candles to shed any light. The last thing I see — Dervish, eyes closed, singing as though his life depended on it.

I feel alone in the darkness, though I know by Dervish's singing and Bill-E's grunts and whines that I'm not. Whistling sounds around me. Something long and silky brushes against my cheeks. I swipe at it, terrified — nothing there.

Dervish stops singing. The sudden silence is as disorienting as the lack of light.

“Dervish?” I whisper, not wishing to distract him, but needing to know he's still there.

“It's OK, Grubbs,” comes his voice. “Don't move.”

“It's dark,” I note redundantly.

“We'll have all the light we care for soon enough,” he promises.

An object brushes my left ear. I flinch. “There's something in the room with us!” I hiss.

“Yes,” Dervish says. “Take no notice. Stand your ground.”

It isn't easy, but I obey my uncle's order. The whistling sounds increase in volume, and I'm struck in various places by what feels like thick strands of rope. I wince and rub at my flesh, but otherwise don't react.

Gradually I notice a dull grey glow all around me, which grows in strength, illuminating the distorted cellar. The walls have been replaced by thick strands of cobwebs, which stretch away, layer after layer, apparently endless. Many of the strands are stained with blood. Some are as thick as a tree trunk, while others are as thin as a line of thread.

From one of the strands hang the severed heads of Mom, Dad, and Gret.

I can't hold back the scream, but Dervish anticipated this. He slides behind me and clamps both hands over my mouth. I howl into the flesh of his palms, wild, sobbing, reaching for the heads, while at the same time trying to back away from them.

“They aren't real, Grubbs,” Dervish grunts, struggling to contain me. “They're illusions. Let your fear go and they'll vanish.”

I thrash more wildly in response. Can't think straight. The heads seem to be growing. Eyes huge, filled with sadness and pain. Mom's lips move silently. Gret sticks here tongue out at me — it's alive with maggots.

“They're testing you!” Dervish growls, fingers tightening over my lips. My neck's strained almost to snapping point. “If they can drive you insane, I'll have nobody to protect me from Artery and Vein!”

The names of the demons penetrate. Fighting the terror, I stare at the faces of my parents and sister, and spot minor mistakes — Dad's nose bends to the wrong side, Gret's hair shouldn't be that long, Mom's eyebrows are too thick.

I stop shaking. Lower my hands. Dervish releases me, but stays close, ready to gag me if I start screaming again.

“How do I make them go away?” I moan.